


Visceral Heat & Carnal Highs

by isolated



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blood&Gore, Demon!Louis, Graphic Body Horror, L&H are endgame, M/M, Mild D/S undertones, Mild Horror, Religious Themes, Rimming, Spanking, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29371512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isolated/pseuds/isolated
Summary: A deep voice spoke. “Let him go.”Harry stood behind them, eyes darting to Louis and the helpless body beneath him. His skin was still exposed by the unbuttoned shirt, unaffected by the cold temperature.Louis’ body—still morphed into an ungodly creature—turned to face him, teeth ferocious and drenched in blood, eyes stark white, veins protruding his cheeks.Harry blinked, unfazed. His jaw locked and gaze sharpened. “Let him go.”Louis snarled, fully turning to prepare for an attack. Harry moved first, propelling forward, feet hardly touching the ground below. In one swift motion Harry stood in front of Louis, looking down at the monstrous being.Unable to process the quick movement, Louis remained on the ground, gazing up. Fear scattered through him. His eyes watered and returned to a pale blue, sanctified by Harry’s gaze.ORAU: Louis is a demon at a house party prowling for a meal, indulging in horrendous sins to satisfy his hunger. Harry is the talk of the night, beckoning all eyes on him and the reason why Louis’s plan goes awry.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Louis Tomlinson/Original Male Character(s), Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 79





	Visceral Heat & Carnal Highs

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Lovelies*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Oh boy, where do I start? I began writing this as a short 10k drabble and the idea ran rampant and now we’re here. I do plan to write a longer sequel to this someday (sooner rather than later, hopefully✧˖°)
> 
> A special thanks; [Bee](https://mugglemirror.tumblr.com/), my horror enthusiast, you had the best reactions, I love how excited you got while beta’ing. Your comments were so endearing! [Zanni](https://zannithinks.tumblr.com/), an amazing mentor, I learned so much from your suggestions! You took your time to break down everything for me to understand and helped fleshed out my characters so well! & [M](https://mercurial-madhouse.tumblr.com/), my impatient little gremlin, for being a great cheerleader. I appreciate everything you’ve all done for me, love you all:*♡
> 
>   
> **Disclaimer;** Please take the tag seriously, this fic is not for the faint of hearts. There are a few gruesome scenes, involving graphic blood and body horror. If you want to know more details before reading the fic, please send me a message (off anon) on my Tumblr. 
> 
> Playlist for the fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0DcZLCApzmG18fG3SxKBBC?si=a886d4e914a44a74) („• ֊ •„)
> 
> ❀ TheIsolatedlily on Tumblr ❀

_“Love? I know hunger, fear and heat. I know when hot blood spills into your mouth, when you bite down in the flesh of a fresh kill.” - **Marlon James** , Black leopard, Red wolf_

I. bloody achilles

“Pullover,” Louis said, his voice muffled by the fast rotative air.

The windows in Zayn’s Porsche were pulled down, winter chills combated the artificial heat the car pumped out. Louis’ skin, perpetually cool and icy to touch, was covered by a baggy crimson hoodie. The metal zipper tickled his bare chest like the sharp scratch of hail, pulled up halfway, leaving his collarbone exposed to the cold.

Zayn continued to drive, his lean figure hunched in a heavy jean jacket. Elegant fingers were permeated with deep tones and convoluted patterns. Bricks of light moved through the vehicle, crawling up his hand as he maneuvered the steering wheel.

His thin lips hardly opened as he said, “No.”

Louis lapped his tongue over his thumb, nail ripped too close to the flesh, the taste of blood soothed him. He wrenched his thumb out of his mouth, saliva hitting his chin, and reached over to unbuckle Zayn’s pants. The car swerved as Zayn swore in his native language, shoving Louis hard. Louis' body ricocheted, temple hitting the seat belt retractor before he settled back into his seat.

“Wanna suck you off,” Louis slurred as he felt the side of his head, fingers finding the tender nerve and pressing. Panic sparked through him as he felt the bareness of his scalp before he remembered.

Zayn’s gaze remained on the road, cool demure unshaken. “Plenty of dick where we’re going.”

He leaned over and pet the back of Louis' head, thumb affectionately rubbing the shaved side as an unspoken apology.

Bony fingers continued to run down to Louis’ neck, stroking through the tail of hair. Louis was a picture of indifference, watching from the corner of his eye as Zayn's brows pinched together, gaze landing on his botched head.

Zayn hadn’t said anything right before they left when Louis had emerged from the bathroom with most of his hair shaved off, save for a patch at the top leading to the long strands in the back. They had entered the car in silence, with Louis finishing off a bottle of wine before chucking it on the snowy lawn and Zayn stocking up his backpack, assuring it was full.

“None I'd be interested in. Niall’s friends with all those bloody graduates from that catholic school over by the church.” Louis reached in his pockets and pulled out a lighter before sticking a hand out like a child asking for sweets.

Zayn pulled a nicely rolled joint from behind his ear, easily handing it to him. “It's an all-boys school, Louis.”

Louis shrugged and lit the joint. “So?”

He inhaled deeply, then let out a long string of smoke.

“So, half those boys aren’t as straight as they’d like to be,” Zayn said, sharp features dissolved into an amused grin.

Louis laughed, coughing lightly when the smoke entered in the wrong direction. He blinked to keep the tears from wetting his face.

“Was startin’ to wonder where all the homos were in this God-forsaken town.”

Months had blurred since Louis had arrived into town. He wasn’t one to get attached to the place he lived in, out before he became a regular at the locals pubs. Moving so frequently had made finding an apartment a troublesome task, most landlords refusing to lease him. Luck had been on his side when he’d found Zayn’s ad looking for a roommate back in October.

Zayn glared.

“M’here.” He sped through a red light.

Louis scoffed. “Hardly counts, Z. You let anyone with a good mouth suck ya off.”

Zayn’s face morphed into something Louis could only read as an agreement.

The windscreen wipers shoved the snow to the side in a slow rhythm, slush and ice gathering in the corners. January had beckoned her magic along the town, covering every inch in snow. This winter, however, was not kind like the others—no kids shrieking and rolling in the snow or huddled teens scheming by the frozen lake in the late hours. The streets were silenced and empty by nightfall. The local news blared in crowded living rooms with daily reports that read grim. The town’s people wormed with worry as days grew bleak and miserable, harboring devastation like an inoperable tumor.

“How far are we drivin’?”

“Other side of town.” Zayn leaned in, flicking a dial of the car stereo. “Out by the graveyard.”

Ambient lo-fi boomed through the speakers. The car flooded with a prickly haziness, a dazzling effervescent dream. Louis grew solemn. He only belonged to nightmares.

He rested his arm on the open window, wrist flicking off ash. “Some posh family finally bought that big house up on the hill, then?”

Zayn hummed. “It’s just one bloke. Gets on with Nialler.”

“Of course,” Louis took another drag of his joint, “it’s the Irish blood.”

Louis grinned, finishing the last of his joint. For mere minutes the cannabis coating his lungs acted as a needed distraction. The void in his empty stomach, a lurching, heated hunger, was hushed down to a bearable sedation.

Zayn let out a light laugh that trailed off to something somber. “Surprised they’re still throwing parties like these with everythin’ goin’ on.”

“Right.” Louis squirmed, adjusting in his seat to place his feet on the dashboard.

They were snug in his glowing white shoes gifted from Zayn. He wore matching pearl socks pulled past his ankles, elastic bands strained over his bulky pants. Louis’ eyes trailed to his heels. In-between two little notches, seeping through the delicate fabric, were vivid red blotches pulsing with pain as the night awoke.

***

II. neon popsicle

The neon glow of the gas station had hummed through the opaque black of the night sky, extraterrestrial and ominous. The Porsche was parked a few feet away, they’d stopped to refill the gas.

Louis had entered the store while Zayn busied himself with the nozzle. When a familiar heat had coiled in his mouth, he purchased a single popsicle, the ones with three vibrant colors stacked up to shape a rocket. The missing person flyer behind the counter had caught Louis' eye, distracting him as the clerk handed over his change. _Mark Vincent, last seen in December_.

Once in the car, Louis viciously pressed his lips to the frozen treat, sucked the whole thing in his mouth until the cold tip hit the back of his throat as red juices slithered down his neck.

Zayn had driven for only a minute before he stopped the car and he pulled down his pants. No time was wasted as Louis had carelessly shoved the popsicle out the window and ducked down on Zayn’s cock.

Now, Zayn’s hushed moans filled the car. His fingers curled in Louis' makeshift mullet, pulling hard and forcing Louis to take him whole until his pubic hair tickled Louis' nose. Louis slurped, tasting a mixture of pre-cum and cherries, lips parted wide. His eyes watered as Zayn bucked into his mouth, nearly ripping Louis' hair from his scalp. The pain sent him into a numbing somnolence.

Louis let Zayn use him as he pleased, assuring to supervise the feverish swell of hunger in his stomach. His hunger and arousal often rippled together into an intense slipstream his self-control conceded to.

Zayn began to convulse and strings of cum poured down Louis’ throat. Zayn gathered himself as Louis adjusted his own bulge in his pants, breathing through his nose until his pleasure subsided.

Zayn tried to meet his eyes. “Let me—”

“Just drive,” Louis snapped too harshly.

Zayn, despite Louis' constant reassurance, was one for reciprocity. Louis, on the other hand, decided he would revel in discomfort if it meant evading Zayn’s death.

***

III. shedding skin

The house was larger than most in town, with a guarded gate and tall pillars on the porch. Inside the appeal grew lusciously with high ceilings, polished wood, picturiques art, and intricate fixtures.

Strong smells of vodka and sweat instantly breached Louis’ nose. Dark red light shifted his vision, slivers of lasers chasing the hypnotic beat, pools of bodies pressed together, heat sticky on their skin. The proximity drove Louis mad. He swallowed. The sensation in his stomach sharpened, thoughts wandering to the pulsing blood trapped within pink meat.

Zayn hardly acknowledged him, gesturing to his pockets before mixing with the crowd. Parties like these were great for business.

Louis made a small lap around the house, assessing his surroundings, eyes lingering on certain individuals, the ones who stuck with their posse and the wallflowers who were too stoned to trust their inhibitions. The performers who pulled crowds to their will, caught up in the night’s shenanigans, their voices loudest in a room.

In the kitchen, Louis had just managed to breach the wine cooler, snagging a bottle of 2007 _Gaja Barbaresco_ when fingers curled around his shoulder. Louis nearly bared his teeth until a familiar voice pierced his ear.

“TOMMO!” Niall yelled with a hand rubbing through his hair. “Nice hair, yah punk bastard.”

Louis winced, getting a strong whiff of his Irish friend. “Fuck’s sake, Niall, you reek.”

Niall was the only reason Louis could tolerate this end of town. They’d met at a similar, much smaller gathering, with Niall instantly showing him around. Louis hadn’t thought much of the Irish lad other than he was loud and could, for the most part, hold his liquor. It wasn't until they were driving back when his appeal grew tenfold.

Zayn had offered to drive Niall home, an odd gesture considering Zayn’s reservedness. Niall had been yodeling in the backseat, high from the night’s festivities when suddenly he ceased, face sober. In swift motions the Irish man began to empty out his pockets, pulling wads of cash, precious jewelry, and expensive gadgets. Louis’ jaw nearly fell to the floor.

The blond had responded with a shrug. “They won’t miss ‘em.”

Back in the kitchen, Niall laughed loud and boisterous, head tilted at Louis' comment. He held a beer, something sour with a high alcohol content, Louis was sure.

“Been here since eight, I reckon. Only chucked up once,” Niall said, his vivid blue eyes hardly open and the corners red with strain. His lips were glossy as he tipped more beer into his gullet.

Niall’s branded clothes blended well with the rich infesting the town. From a simple glance one could be fooled. However, like Zayn and himself, Niall understood the deformity that came when one indulged with the privileges. You morphed and shed all the pink, healthy skin, adding parts that weren’t yours, until you were nothing but an artificial mutt. A combination of decadence, ignorance, and burrowed jealousy.

Niall drank as he transformed through the night. Louis feared he would never meet the Irish man in his true form.

Louis managed to find a corkscrew hidden in the grand lushness that was the kitchen, taking a healthy swig of wine, belly rumbling with warmth.

“Where’s your boy? Got a few mates who want to meet him,” Niall slurred, the words hardly coherent.

Louis nodded, understanding that this was Niall’s way of helping Zayn out, bringing him a hefty sell. “Saw him head to the living room, was speaking to a few birds by the pool table.”

“You have fun now, Tommo,” Niall snapped his fingers. “By the way, remind me to introduce you to Hazza! He’s a good time and…” he leaned closer. Louis huffed, mirroring him. “Rumour has it he’s a good shag, bit of a gentle lover if you know what I mean. Think you two would get on.”

Louis frowned. Clearly, Niall wasn’t familiar with his type. Which wasn’t surprising, considering.

Another brash laugh escaped Niall’s lips before he disappeared through an arched entrance, camouflaging with the decadent and ignorant.

***

IV. prowl

The boom and bass of music bounced off the walls, limbs flailing, yells and shouts heard over the sound. The night was at its peak. Louis nursed his bottle of wine, hooded eyes observing as he restrained himself from joining the bubbling mess of bodies. The hunger was too severe—his tongue nicked from the sharpening of his teeth. Cherry light shaded the room and concealed the frightening appearance of his eyes—bloodshot with blown pupils, blue no longer visible.

Hours had passed before Louis' eyes fell on his target. A ginger boy with a buzzcut and splattered with freckles was pinched in the corner of the couch. His unzipped black hoodie revealed an orange stain on his white shirt.

 _Careless with apathy for the night_ , Louis thought as he watched the boy’s fingers scroll through his phone.

The boy had hardly spoken, and when approached conversations were quickly brushed off, his small eyes shifting to the side with boredom and a smile hardly lifting his cheeks.

Louis finished his bottle of wine, leaving it on a random mantle. He took a few easy strides to the boy whose face morphed into disgust as a daring pair were in the process of humping each other a few feet away.

“Let’s hope he brought a condom,” Louis said as he plopped onto the couch.

The boy flinched at the intrusion, eyeing Louis unimpressively. “Don’t think it’ll matter.”

Louis understood the impression he gave off. His baggy clothes, light scruff at the jaw, and eagerness with scissors left him looking like a shaggy dog left out in the rain. Unlike Niall, Louis’ efforts to fit in were mute. However, what he lacked in his attire he made up for with demure. His ability to enthrall, crinkling his eyes as he laughed at their jokes, holding them in place as he spoke the right words, light touches in a flirtatious manner. Louis was known for an exhilarating prowl. Every movement had a purpose.

“Don’t blame the girl, he’s quite fit,” Louis said, gesturing to the burly bloke. He tucked his knees on the couch, body completely facing the boy. “I’d say she’s feeling it more than he is though.”

The boy rolled his eyes, nodding his head in agreement. “Reckon he likes to talk a big game with no action.”

Then the boy leaned in, only a little. “Watch, he’ll whisper in her ear, tell her he’s getting a drink or some shit, go fuck off somewhere, then come back after humping some other bird.”

“There’s no way.” Louis shook his head in disbelief despite knowing the boy was right. He’d eyed the burly man with a slight interest, had watched him hop from body to body before deciding he’d be too much work to lure.

“I swear it, mate.”

“Care to wager a bet?” Louis proposed, pressing his lips together into a coy smile.

The boy squinted at Louis, his small eyes nearly disappearing, then nodded. “Ten pounds?”

“Deal.”

They turned to watch as the burly man did as predicted, slapping the girl’s ass before he disappeared into the crowd. The girl sauntered away from the dance floor after a minute or so, clearly inquiring his whereabouts. And, as if summoned, the man returned with a small blonde on his hip, dancing just as provocatively as before.

Louis looked over at the boy with a grin, eyes wide.

The boy smiled, revealing jagged teeth. “He’s been pulling that shit all night. He’s the type to make up shit to his lads about how ‘ _Amy’s such a slag, she gave me a jobby in the loo,_ ’ fucking knobber!”

Louis laughed as he bashfully placed his palm over his mouth. “I’m familiar with the type, overcompensate cause they like it up the ass.”

The boy’s eyes met Louis’ and his gaze shifted as he swallowed.

“I’m Louis.”

Their knees touched, charged static danced between them. The music picked a heavy beat. The boy wet his lips.

“Ansel,” he whispered.

Louis leaned closer to catch it.

“So,” the boy cleared his throat, “are you friends with Harry?”

“Who?” Louis shook his head. “No, I’m friends with the bloke handing out party favors.”

“Party favors?” Ansel cocked his head to the side. There was a light scar on his chin. Louis wanted to bite it.

Louis reached into his pocket and pulled out a small baggie.

“Oh,” Ansel said. “Pays to have good friends.”

“Speaking of, was hoping to pay you in some other way,” Louis stood up and waved the baggie in Ansel's face, “if that’s cool with you.”

Ansel nodded with his bottom lip wedged between his teeth. “Lead the way.”

***

V. chandelier halo

Louis tilted his head back and sniffed. He rubbed his fingers at his nose, wiping the excess white powder. He handed the tightly rolled bill to Ansel and watched as the ginger boy inhaled the neatly made line. The two were huddled by a mantle while the party lived on behind them. Louis’ lashes fluttered, adjusting to the color changing through the room, bouncing from pink to blue. The crowd jumped in unison to the pounding pulse of the music. Louis put his thumb in his mouth and gnawed at the familiar wound.

Out in the sea of bodies, cheers erupted. A crowd gathered to surround a figure.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Louis mumbled.

Ansel lifted his head, occupied with forming more powdered lines. He squinted, then frowned.

“It’s Harry,” he said absently, then continued to shape the coke with an old flimsy coffee card at hand. “Bear witness to the second coming of Christ.”

Louis raised an eyebrow and pulled his thumb out of his mouth. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”

Ansel sighed. Louis watched the insidious emotion, a green fog with a slick edge of frustration radiate from Ansel's entire being. It oozed off of him and wrapped itself around Louis, coating his taste buds. His stomach grumbled with hunger, hating the effects coke had on his body.

“This—” Ansel wagged his finger over his head, “is his house.”

“Right,” Louis said, his brows still pinched together in confusion from the earlier statement. He casually rested an elbow on Ansel’s shoulder and watched the show.

As if Moses was wielding the red sea, the crowd parted as Harry moved. Louis noticed the long curls first, thin brown ringlets that dusted his shoulders. He wore tailored clothes, a black collared shirt and sleek patterned pants too formal for this type of gathering.

However, it was the man's smile that rendered Louis stiff. It beamed across his face and cracked the sharpness of his features. A smile meant to invoke sweetness like the suckling of a fruit, sour juices flowing down and eroding the throat. It froze in place, pink lips never stretching wider than needed, ostentatious and reserved. His eyes studied the crowd with an amorous heat and dragged over individual figures guilefully, each of them bare and exposed. Men hooked themself to him, shoving drinks into his face while women crooned and gleamed for his attention.

Thorns erupted on the surface of Louis' skin as an unnerving chill washed over him.

“Mr. Popular, then.” Louis looked at Ansel. The ginger boy was bobbing to the heavy techno beat, a vibration beneath his skin, eyes glazed over and lifted off elsewhere.

Louis pulled Ansel’s face close and moved past his cheek to whisper in his ear. “Why don’t we go dance?”

Before he could answer, Louis pulled him to the dance floor. They found a safe haven within the crowd. Louis' limbs were melted metal, flowing with heat and sounds as waves of euphoria penetrated him with every move.

Fingers twisted around Louis’ hip. Ansel, bright-eyed and caught under his spell as moist breath passed between their mouths. Louis slithered his hands up Ansel’s neck, fingers brushing the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Ansel let out a soft moan between the two of them.

Louis' smile grew wicked only to simmer into a shocking stupor as he caught a glimpse behind them.

Harry stood in the center of the room, blouse unbuttoned, skin exposed, misted and glistening with sweat.

Men and women clung to his body, his face captured by elation as if possessed by the Holy Spirit. Their lips formed prayers, parting as they pressed their mouths along Harry’s neck or ear, any part of his skin they could reach, some nearly on their knees, primed to worship. The chandelier high above Harry’s head—suffused with divinity—twirled. The opulent jewels kidnapped light and dispersed twinkling stars around the room. Harry's eyes closed.

Louis gaped as the entire chandelier glowed like a dissoluted halo. He couldn’t comprehend the wrongness of the scene, too caught up in awe. Lust and pleasure leaked from Harry like the humidity before a spring pour. Louis turned away, the scent so sweet and rich it caused a familiar acid to come up from his esophagus. An ominous feeling took form in him.

There was an odd shift in the room. One minute Harry’s Godly green eyes were focused on the harem before him, the next Harry's jaw clenched as he turned to face Louis. His gaze held weight, intimately penetrative, strictly meant for him.

Louis froze. Something slick and malignant ran up his arm as if a venomous snake slithered up his naked skin. Bodies continued to dance in the space between them, no one noticing the intensity of their eyes. Alarms rang in Louis’ head as an unsettling doom grew in his gut.

A woman on Harry’s arm whispered in his ear, pulling his attention. He cradled her face in his large hands, watching her speak as if she were the sun.

Free from the gaze, Louis’ eyes roamed the room. He clung to Ansel, whose consciousness was still marinated in drugs.

“Hey, mind if we get some fresh air? It’s a little stuffy in here.”

“Uh.'' Ansel blinked, frazzled, head caught up in reverie.

Louis' gaze shifted between Ansel and Harry, lips pressed with impatience. Harry and the women were pulled close, foreheads pressed together, her fingers on his lips.

Louis leaned in and pecked Ansel’s lip with a swift kiss. “Please.”

Ansel nodded, head bobbing furiously. Frantically looking behind them, Louis grabbed Ansel in a frenzy, pulling him by the wrist and away from the crowd.

***

VI. muscle tissue

“How far are we going?” Ansel asked as he trudged through the snow behind them, dodging the heavy, polished stones sprouting from the ground.

The sky was dark with no stars in sight. Moonlight appraised the naked trees. The temperature had dropped, breath coming out in puffs of fog.

Paranoia rattled through Louis as he’d led them outside, walking through a large yard until they reached a short fence that separated them from the graveyard. Louis had easily climbed over, taunting Ansel until he did the same.

Now they strolled through buried bodies, fingers interlocked. Louis swallowed, mouth moist as his eyes caught the scar along Ansel’s neck and swallowed again.

Louis met Ansel’s gaze and smiled sweetly. “Thought it’d be nice if we had a bit of privacy.”

Ansel smirked, cheeks red from the cold. There was a wooden shed up ahead, likely where all the gravekeepers kept their tools. Anticipation pulled Louis into a light jog until he was close enough to push Ansel against the wood.

There was a hunger within Ansel as well that hummed off his skin as he immediately attached his lips to Louis', feverishly slipping cold digits under his baggy sweater. Ansel pulled the zipper and exposed Louis’ chest while his clammy fingers grazed Louis’ cold stomach.

Louis' own hands removed Ansel's hoodie, chucking it in the snow and letting Ansel devour his mouth while Louis preoccupied himself with the next task—hands working with the mechanics of Ansel’s pants. The ginger boy yelped against his lips once Louis had succeeded, slipping a hand past the opening of his jeans and cupping Ansel’s cock through his briefs. The scent of pleasure was light, like wilted flowers in fall. Louis chased the last of the aroma, his high nearly worn off.

Louis buried his face into Ansel's neck, pressing himself against his pulsing skin, hand palming his cock. Ansel let a strangled moan.

“Shhh,” Louis whispered. “You sound like a bloody virgin who’s nerve has been touched.”

He licked the shell of Ansel’s ear, the boy shivered against him, growing solid in his hand. Louis held him, feeling the length of his cock and using the fabric of Ansel’s briefs as friction as he began stroking. Ansel let out more shaky moans for the dead to hear.

“Fuck, are you about to jizz already? I’ve hardly touched you.”

Ansel simply whimpered, fingers gripping at Louis' sides.

“I bet if I put my mouth on you, you wouldn't last a second,” Louis continued as he licked a fat protruding vein beneath Ansel’s skin from neck to his jaw. Ansel shook, eyes fluttering shut. A damp patch formed in his briefs.

“Please, Louis,” Ansel’s voice broke.

“Shhh, I've got ya.”

Louis finally managed to pull his pants and briefs down to his thighs so his cock sprung free, warm and sticky in cold dry air. Ansel hissed when Louis took a hold of his smooth, damp skin and squeezed around his length with his thumb running over the slit to spread the pre-cum.

When Ansel’s moans grew louder, Louis stopped all movement and nipped at Ansel’s earlobe, hard. “What did I say about being quiet?”

Ansel snapped his mouth shut. Louis smiled and peppered kisses along his jaw.

“Atta boy!”

A glob of pre-cum slid down Ansel’s cock when Louis began stroking once more, working faster. He felt his hunger unleash and caught the few last drops of lust on Ansel’s skin. His eyes rolled back, the sclera glowing white against the empty night. A snarl escaped his cracked lips, his teeth doubled in size, long and pointy.

Ansel moved in rhythm with each stroke, hips thrusting forward, oblivious to the creature transforming before him.

Louis moved his other hand and stroked Ansel’s pale ass, dragging a finger between his cheeks. Ansel was a mess in his arm, shaking furiously and whimpering against his ear.

“What would happen if I fucked a virgin boy like you?” Louis said along his jaw, only managing wet licks, mouth unable to shut around his fangs.

He slowly probed his finger into Ansel’s tight hole, the ring of muscle soaking it with heat. That’s all it took to throw Ansel over the edge.

Ansel’s body quaked in long spasms, hips erratically thrusting as he came, ribbons of cum on Louis' hand and sweater. The heady scent of ecstasy was thick.

Louis could no longer restrain himself.

He pulled on Ansel’s white shirt, ripping it until it revealed a chunk of muscle that was his shoulder. Louis reeled back, mouth opening wide to take a bite.

His teeth sunk deep.

Blood filled his mouth, coating his tongue with the coppery taste until he pulled hard and a _morceau_ of flesh ripped off. Blood sprayed everywhere, tainting his cheek and turning the snow below crimson. Louis chewed on the muscle tissue easily, feeling it soften in his mouth. Warm meat quickly went down his throat with the saltiness of blood.

Lost in trance of delight and gluttony, Louis had forgotten about the boy he’d just bitten who was now shrieking hysterically. He shoved a hand over the boy’s mouth and maneuvered until he was behind Ansel.

Louis took a quick scan around them. “I thought I told you to be quiet, virgin boy.”

Louis waited as Ansel withered in his grip, thrashing and mewling. When it seemed like no one else was among them, he pinned Ansel down and shoved his face into the snow. Louis’ cum coated fingers pressed into Ansel’s skull as he sat on the boy’s kicking legs, pants and briefs still around his thighs.

Louis loosened his grip only to take another bite of Ansel, teeth gnawing on his shoulder blade. A string of mauled flesh snapped off as Louis ripped loin from the bone, blood and drool dripped down his chin and pooled on the disgruntled skin. Ansel sobbed, his voice muffled by the snow.

Louis’ hold tightened and added pressure to the boy’s neck to cut off his breath, ready to end the boy’s misery when he heard the wedging of snowy footsteps making their way to them.

Louis growled, his guard up.

A deep voice spoke. “Let him go.”

***

VII. fallen

Harry stood behind them, eyes darting to Louis and the helpless body beneath him. His skin was still exposed by the unbuttoned shirt, unaffected by the cold temperature.

Louis' body—still morphed into an ungodly creature—turned to face him, teeth ferocious and drenched in blood, eyes stark white, veins protruding his cheeks.

Harry blinked, unfazed. His jaw locked and gaze sharpened. “Let _him_ go.”

Louis snarled, fully turning to prepare for an attack. Harry moved first, propelling forward, feet hardly touching the ground below. In one swift motion Harry stood in front of Louis, looking down at the monstrous being.

Unable to process the quick movement, Louis remained on the ground, gazing up. Fear scattered through him. His eyes watered and returned to a pale blue, sanctified by Harry’s gaze.

The dominating weight of fingers burning upon touch snaked around Louis’ throat. Harry delicately closed off his windpipe. Exquisite pain bloomed with the press of each finger, as if a scorched cigarette was pressed against Louis’ skin, rendering it red and tender. Louis was weightless as air ceased to enter his lungs. A soundless pain that muddled all thoughts and senses left him unable to comprehend fear or danger.

Harry’s voice held a frightening timber. “Cursed be anyone who shed innocent human blood.”

Louis yielded to the febrile, excruciating sensation. Warm tears glided down his face as Harry lifted him by the neck, limbs numb, dangling like pulled roots. His lips, cracked and quivered, parted, perhaps to plead or _moan_. Before any sound could escape Louis was thrown against the shed, his body flailing like a rag doll.

Harry crouched down and helped Ansel to his feet, pulling his pants up as the injured boy shook. Ansel’s shoulder was mauled and soaked in blood, skin paler than the moon as snot and tears coated his petrified face. The boy hardly moved, as if shock riddled through his whole system.

“Ansel?” Harry asked gently and removed his silk shirt to place on Ansel’s gaping wound.

The moonlight caught the glimmer of a gold chain around Harry’s neck. A miniature crucifix weighed it down at the center.

Without warning Harry grabbed the boy’s chin.

“Ansel, listen to me.” He forced their eyes to lock. There was a shift in his voice when he spoke again. “You’re going to walk back up the hill, get in your car on the passenger side. You’re going to wait for me. Do whatever you have to do to stay awake. Hold this tightly.” Harry replaced his hand with Ansel’s pale one on the shirt covering the wound.

“Do not let anyone see you, I'll be right up to drive you to the hospital.” Harry picked Ansel's neglected hoodie, shaking off the snow and lightly resting it on Ansel's shoulders, covering his disheveled injured state. “Do you understand?”

Ansel nodded once, face devoid of emotion.

“Go,” Harry commanded.

Ansel sprung into action, walking the same way they had come, pace confident, bereft of any traumatic event.

Louis' body lay pressed in the snow as he watched the scene before him. Dizziness floated between his eyes and it took all his strength to stand up. His fingers crawled up his neck, feeling the ghost of Harry’s fingers, knowing there were bruises decorating his skin.

Louis understood all, then nothing at once.

The heaviness of Harry’s emotions, his strength and speed, the way humans beseech for his attention and praise. Harry was a fallen being—a scorned Angel.

Louis had heard the whispers of fallen Angels, ostracized from heaven by God himself. They roamed the Earth, living amongst humans, forced to live monotonous lives. Certain fallens, understandably, grew bored of mediocre living and took upon themselves to rid the Earth of its _impurities_. They hunted and annihilated demons like Louis.

Louis' breath was shaky as he adjusted his stance, ready to face Harry. He tried to recall any information that may pertain to defeating a heavenly creature and came up short. He was completely ignorant of their abilities or weaknesses. Until recently, he doubted the validity of their existence.

“I suppose this is the part where you try to kill me, then.”

Harry, who was still watching Ansel’s moving figure, jumped, head whipping in Louis’ direction.

“Right.”

Louis charged, body shifting into his demonic form and hands going for Harry’s neck. Harry ducked, attempting a foot sweep as his left leg kicked out to knock Louis down. Louis had just enough time to flip back and land on his feet. Harry jumped high, twisting until he was directly behind Louis, arms wrapping around the demon’s neck. The sizzling sensation stunted Louis, flashes of red blinding his vision in pain.

Louis growled, digging his elbow into Harry’s stomach, forcing the grip to release him.

Louis was able to hold his own. He didn’t have miraculous abilities like others of his kind, but he held strength within his small figure. He was also clever on when to use it.

The half-naked man heaved and hunched over, clutching his stomach. He looked between Louis and Ansel’s distant figure as confliction stalled him. All the intensity from earlier vanished as he straightened, hands casually placed on his hip, evoking a boyish persona.

Harry sighed. “I don’t have time to deal with you at the moment. He’s going to bleed to death.”

Louis wanted to laugh at the sudden contrast. It boded well in his favor.

Just as Louis prepared for an escape, Harry once more was faster than expected and leaped in front of him, caging him against the barn. Louis snapped his teeth frantically, squirming away as he tried to bite the boy's arm off. Shock flooded him when Harry made his job a lot easier by shoving his wrist deep into the cavern of his dagger filled mouth.

Acting on instinct Louis bit deeply, tasting the tanginess of sweat on Harry’s skin before blood filled his mouth, throat flooded with the metallic sweetness of Angelic blood. Louis drank it hungrily, savouring its richness. A heady feeling stirred within him as the liquid filled his belly.

The stickiness dripped down his chin, the blood flowing exuberantly. Louis wanted to drown in it.

Harry wrenched his arm away before Louis had a chance to harvest his flesh. An angry, raw gash was left on Harry’s smooth skin, red trickling down his fingers.

“That should do it.”

Louis bumped his head against the shed, gasping heavily. He wondered if this was a benevolent act from Harry, feeding him one last time before burying him deep beneath the ground. However, Louis realized Harry worked beyond his predictability.

Harry watched Louis with a familiar intensity, an odd smirk on his lips. “Try not to pass out while I’m gone, yeah?”

Harry pulled back, breaking into a light jog in Ansel’s direction. Halfway through he turned, a smirk still nestled on his features as he yelled between the short distance, “Makes the killing one-sided.”

Louis slumped against the shed. Harry was long gone. The moon, high in the sky, gleamed with looming clouds blocking its light. An owl’s cries echoed through the dark.

Louis looked up, spotting a twinkling dot. He grew angry realizing it was only an airplane.

No star shined in his favour.

***

VIII. ailment

Louis was trembling.

He walked through the mess of bodies huddled to himself, fingers tucked under his armpits. Whatever was left of his fringe was slicked against his forehead, sweat running down his jaw. His eyes were frantic trying to locate a familiar figure among the crowd. The only thought that weighed in his mind was to flee before Harry’s return.

He had managed to clean himself off with snow, washing the blood from his face and hands, zipping up his sweater that was such a shade of red all the blood had sunk into the fabric and left no trace of a stain. The only caveat were his shoes, speckled with dried blood crusted along the edges, now turning brown. Louis hoped no eyes lingered on them as he made his way through the house.

Louis licked his lips, tongue dry and throat sore as if he had swallowed sand. Pain spread through Louis’ chest as short breath escaped his lungs, exhaustion rendering his limbs heavy, muscles aching from the smallest movements. He blinked once, watching the room spin and seeing ghosts of people who weren’t dead, then again until the hallucinations vanished.

He found Zayn in the dining area with a petite brunette on his lap. Louis nearly cried in relief. Zayn nudged the girl off of him once he spotted Louis.

“Lou?” Zayn asked cautiously, his expression splitting into concern. “You feelin’ okay?”

Louis gave a tiny shake of the head, frightened bile would crawl up his throat.

“You’re shivering.” Zayn came to his side and carefully placed a hand on his back.

Louis swallowed, closing his eyes, hoping it would bring relief. “Yeah, m’little cold is all.”

“You don’t get cold.” Zayn said with certainty. There was no way he could possibly believe that, despite it being true.

“Mind if I drive back to the flat? Think I ought to call it a night,” Louis said, his voice weak and brittle.

“I can drive—“

“No, Niall’s hammered off his mind, probably gonna need you to drive ’im. I saw his car parked along the hill.”

Zayn watched with something blazing within his eyes.

Louis breathed through his nostrils, keeping his frustration at bay. He didn’t have time for this. “Please, Z. I swear I’m fine, mate.”

Zayn sighed, digging into his jeans and pulling the keys to the Porsche. “You got your phone on you?”

“Yeah.” Though the battery had died hours ago. “I’ll call if anything happens.”

“Call me when you’re home, Lou,” Zayn said sternly.

Louis gave a weak smile. “Ok, mum.”

He waited until Zayn had fully returned to his previous discussion, the petite girl pressing along his side, before he nearly ran through the house. His fingers shook violently when he reached the front entrance, barely making it outside before his stomach squeezed and he lurched forward, chunks of meat erupting from his mouth. He continued to dry heave on the snow, knees giving out as he crumpled and fell down the flight of porch steps until he landed by nicely trimmed hedges.

Spots clouded his vision, blurring and smudging together. Louis’ body shook as he rested his face on the snow. After a while the dry heaving transformed into suffocating coughs, his lungs unable to capture fresh air. He managed to turn on his back, ribs expanding lightly.

It had started to snow. Delicate frozen rain twirling down from the sky. Louis watched it land on him, a trail of red spit leaking from his mouth to the ground, chest burning with exhaustion. His heart pushed small beats. Louis blinked, eyelids sticky with sweat and lashes pricking, unable to fight the fatigue. In the end, his eyes rolled back, falling into a lull, darkness taking him.

***

IX. resurrection

When consciousness blessed him, Louis could only recall an intoxicating sweetness. The smell of burnt oak wood and lilac filled his nostrils. Life flowed into him in a steady stream of overwhelming energy pressed to his cheek. It was hypnotic, coated with lush sincerity and an undertow of sinister heat that was abundantly soothing, like being submerged into a steamed bath that had his muscles melting into putty, mind sliding into bliss.

Louis’ lashes flickered, vision hazy, trying to focus on a clear image.

Harry’s face was upon him with a backdrop of cloudy hibiscus skies, snow landing on his head. His curls were tied back, crucifix tauntingly swinging from his open white satin shirt. It was his hand cradling Louis' cheek.

Following an odd instinctual tug, Louis' weak hands lifted, grazing over Harry’s chest and loving the delicious burn it elicited beneath the pads of his skin.

“Might have had too much,” Harry’s voice rumbled through Louis' fingers, permeating his bones when he spoke.

Louis groaned, pulling away, hand flapping back into the cold snow. “What have you done to me?”

Harry only smiled, moving to stand and pulling Louis along with him. Louis recoiled, separating himself from him. He sat up taking in his surroundings. He was still outside, sitting beneath Harry’s porch, blankets of snow surrounding them. There was an ongoing beat of music still shaking the large home.

A light breeze flew by and Harry’s scent was _everywhere_. Another strange pull possessed Louis’ joints and caused his fingers to spasm at his side. Harry took a noticeable step back, giving Louis space when he stood.

The sickness in Louis had suddenly vanished with no trace of its existence except for a puddle of red vomit on the snow.

“Luckily I found you before an ambulance was called. I don’t think you were breathing,” Harry said.

The casualty in his voice annoyed Louis to no end. It made something bubble inside him.

“Lucky me,” Louis said with no conviction.

His eyes shifted around him trying to hatch an escape. From what he gathered, Harry’s ability entailed speed, swiftly covering a huge distance with a simple leap, possessing magnificent strength—the memory of being flung against the shed fresh in Louis’ mind—and perhaps, yielding _magic_. Louis recalled the strange spell Harry had performed on Ansel.

But there was something else, a detachment that carried itself within Harry, unmoved and callous, juxtaposing his saintliness. It loomed as he surrounded himself with faceless bodies or when he had held Louis at his mercy. It was insidious, a glint that bore no benignancy, like a judge sending a man to his death or a soldier detonating a bomb. When Harry had held Louis in his hands, a hierarchy had been determined.

Louis eyed the path down the hill leading to the driveway. Despite his previous aloofness, Harry’s plump lips spread into a knowing smile.

“I’m not going to kill you with a house full of guests to witness.”

Louis’ pursed lips formed a tight smile. “Aw, afraid I’ll cause a scene in front of the lads?”

Harry laughed. “You seem like the type, if I'm honest. Besides, the night is young and you’re stuck by my side. Why don’t you enjoy your last hurrah while it lasts.”

Louis' face fell. “What do you mean by _stuck_?”

Harry’s eyes shimmered as he zipped up his lips childishly. He made a move to walk past Louis, but Louis was quicker and grabbed him with cold fingers clawing at Harry’s arm. The touch was a scorching pleasure, resembling the satisfyingly horrid feeling of skittering fingers on the bottom of an iron enlivened with heat. Louis suppressed a violent shiver as he gripped tighter.

“ _Harry,_ ” Louis begged, the name rolled off his tongue in a euphoric manner, slick and smooth.

Harry’s eyes met his. This close he appeared so human, skin slightly wrinkled with maturity, dusting of stubble at his jaw, a small raised blemish at his chin.

Louis wondered how long ago the Angel had fallen. Had he witnessed wars, or were they simply tales and photos within history books? Was he capable of aging, or was he an immortal being like Louis? Questions continued to pile up in his head, deferring him from the topic at hand.

“It’s...” Harry’s mouth open then shut, fumbling for the words. “It’s a little trick I learned. Comes in handy when I’m dealing with,” He paused to look at Louis, “difficult cases.”

Louis hadn’t realized how slow Harry spoke, the sentences forming at the pace of poured molasses. Louis bit his tongue and tapped his foot on the ground in an attempt to keep profanities out of his mouth.

Harry pulled his arm around his chest, the other lightly pulling on his own lips as he continued.

“My blood is very potent and when certain _creatures_ —” Louis glared as Harry said the word with disdain, “—are exposed to it…” He trailed, adjusting his weight from one foot to the next. “It can have this sort of bewitching effect.”

Louis spoke through clenched teeth, “And by _bewitching effect_ you mean?”

“Attachment, mostly.” Harry fiddled with a ring around his finger. “If you were to separate from me for a long period, you would fall ill. Possibly die.”

Louis was not proud of how he shook. He let out a long groan, fists pressed against his eyes. Rage—thick and dry—lashed out of him like tectonic force shaking the Earth.

“It does wear off once my blood cycles out,” Harry rushed, watching Louis throw a tantrum. “But by then I’ll have killed you.”

Louis seethed, voice raising. “I’m stuck with the sole creature on this Earth that can kill me? Until you so _choose_ to end me!”

Harry frowned, eye shifting. “Yeah?”

“Why do you sou—” Louis groaned. “This—” he tripped over his speech, mind reeling for the right words. “This is harassment! You force fed me _your bodily fluids_ without my consent.”

Harry hummed, hand covering his mouth, eyes squinting in thought. “ _Interesting_. May I remind you that you were also on the verge of eating someone without _their_ consent.” He sniffed. “Ansel is going to be fine by the way, no thanks to you.”

“It’s what I have to do! That’s how I survive!” Louis cried with sadness.

He’d come to terms with what he was and what he needed to do to survive. He didn’t always enjoy it. The shame was always at its worst while he fed, gorging himself with meat, the blood slick in his hands and the screams silenced through pain. He felt traces of it well up, clogging his throat as he tried to explain himself to someone who could never understand. Louis' entire being was hedonistic, programmed to yield to sins. Gluttony, in the end, _always_ came before ignominy.

Harry’s face wore no emotion except a tweak of something foreign when he spoke. “And that’s why your kind is an abomination.”

Harry's eyes held Louis’, judgment wielding in his features. They were worlds apart. Harry was a holy being, too high on a pedestal, looking down to demons like Louis. It reminded him of the rich kids, ignorant vermin that infested the town.

“Save your breath if you’re just going to insult me,” Louis hissed and ran shaky fingers through his hair. His clothes were uncomfortable against his skin, drenched from laying in the snow.

Harry’s eyes cascaded down his figure. Despite the rage and disdain that ran cold through Louis’ veins, the disatourious outcome of the night and utter violation he felt, Louis couldn’t shake the urge to melt against the fiery gaze.

“C’mon, let’s go in. I’ll lend you a pair of dry clothes.” Harry placed a hand on his chest, the other by his head, palm out. “Promise I won’t kill you until morning.”

Louis stood where he was with arms crossed defiantly as Harry continued walking up his grand steps. He sighed once he reached the top and noticed Louis' unmoving figure.

“I’d follow along if I were you, Louis. I’d rather not pick up your dead body from the snow.”

Louis didn’t ask how Harry had known his name. The manner in which Harry spoke it, intimately familiar as if spoken casually among friends, had Louis unsettled.

Louis let out an exhausted breath, looking to the heavens that cursed him before spitting on the ground and stomping up the concrete steps. Harry made a noise of disgust at the vulgar act.

***

X. wilted bones

After they’d raided Harry's walk-in closet for fifteen minutes, Louis finally conceded on an old battered Harvard sweater and loose puke coloured sweatpants he folded at the ankle. The small chandelier shook from the ruckus below them. Harry had paused, eyeing the beaded glass above his bed before he shrugged.

“Why throw such a chaotic party in a new home?” Louis had asked, shocked by Harry’s indifference.

Harry smiled cherubically. “People love a good party.”

Louis had rolled his eyes and pretended to gag.

Sat on the floor by the foot of the bed, Louis snooped through a luxury box filled with various sunglasses. Harry tidied the mess of clothes as they trickled from the closet's french door into the main room.

“You know there's such a thing as hoarding wealth,” Louis said idly, watching Harry rearrange his collection of expensive suits.

“I’m well aware of how greed works,” Harry groaned.

“Right, right. Isn't that one of those seven sins _your kind_ frets about?” Louis eyed a pair of aviators and pouted when they wouldn’t stay on his face. “Is that why they booted you out? Got a little stingy with the clothes, did we?”

Harry frowned, ripping a jacket from its hanger.

“Oh, did I hit a nerve?” Louis smiled with giddiness and put the hefty box aside.

“For a demon, you’re quite annoying,” Harry mumbled with a look cast his way.

Louis squirmed under the scrutiny, recovering smoothly as he peeked through the oversized shades to mimic the look. “I don’t think me being annoying strays far from my job description, if you know what I mean.”

Harry nodded after a thought. “I suppose you’re right, if I’m being honest. I’ve never met a demon like you. You seem—” Harry cut himself off, gaping like a fish before snapping his mouth shut.

“I seem…?” Louis egged on, tossing the aviators on the bed.

Harry turned, back facing Louis as he bent to pick up another piece of clothing. “Quite human.”

The comment rendered Louis silent, a sharpness settled inside him. Louis had lost everything that was human years ago. His appearance was a mere mockery, a fleeting reminder that the skin he wore wasn’t what he once was. He was no longer the docile, kind thing that roamed the Earth with mundane thoughts of his future. He was a ravenous monster craving flesh and lust, going from city to city to devour beings.

Harry, oblivious to Louis’ sudden shift, continued. “Most demons I’ve met are sort of clumsy, easily exposing themselves. They can’t even create a realistic human form. There’s always something off, you know? Like their walk or their eyes.”

“Perks of being born human, I suppose,” Louis said solemnly, head tilted back on the bed with an arm held in the air, tracing the round patterns on the ceiling.

Harry paused his movements. “How exactly were you summoned?”

Louis swallowed, mouth dry. “I wasn’t summoned, I made a deal.”

“How is that possible?” Harry asked, his voice clipped and fast, eyes nearly popped from their sockets.

Louis tilted his face back to Harry, looking into the curious eyes. “A group of bloody kids ambushed me in an alley and stabbed me in the chest a few times. The main bloke was trying to bring back his girlfriend from the dead, a life for a life kind of shit. Tried to perform the ritual, except I wasn't completely dead.”

“Oh no.” Harry’s voice was low, laced with pity. Louis felt his chest cave in, turning away from Harry. Compassion wasn’t meant for the likes of him.

“Yeah. The spell didn’t work, those idiots summoned Satan himself. He wasn’t too keen on being woken, slaughtered all of them right there and then. When he noticed I was still alive, I begged. He made me a deal.”

Harry grew sombered, lips weighted as his emotion spilled on the floor. An exhaustion that resembled the crippleness of incurable disease revealed itself borrowed within the creases of Harry’s face.

By the look on his face, Louis knew Harry must have lived through horrific sights and personal tragedies. Louis wondered what haunted him, what nestled between his shoulders and led him to such woe. Why all that remained was holy judgment and wilted bones.

Neither of them spoke as muffled music pulsed through the walls. The air between them was a deep exposed wound, raw and bloody, throbbing with pain. Louis craved liquor and the fount of its warmth, hoping it would void all urges to beckon Harry closer and press his chilled lips against the man’s scalded temple.

Louis frowned, displeased with the thought. He opened his mouth to speak gruesome words without shame. “The first thing I did once I woke,” Louis smiled wickedly, “was eat them. One by one. My stomach was full for weeks!”

Harry‘s face sunk, appearing centuries older. “That’s horrid, Louis.”

Louis sneered, the desire in him forming into repulsion like heated water sloshing over the pot. “You don’t get to judge me with your divinity and scorn. They tried to _kill_ me. I was desperate, I wanted to _live_.”

Harry’s stare was dauntless.

“I would have chosen death.” Despite the harshness of his words, they were soft in the space between them.

Louis would have too. If he had known everything that followed from the deal he had made, he gladly would have chosen death.

“Well, that’s the difference between you and I.”

“Among other things,” Harry mumbled, returning to his main task of sorting through more gaudy shirts.

“Oh fuck off, you Angelic prick,” Louis snapped though the insult lacked it’s original tact.

Harry pursed his lips, refraining from laughing. “Nice.”

“I hate you,” Louis said, picking up the velvet box next to him and rummaging through it once more.

Harry didn’t entertain him with a response, humming the tune coming from downstairs and moving his limbs offbeat.

“Rude,” Louis scoffed, grabbing a pair of red heart-shaped glasses.

Harry then started belting, a boyish smile on his face. “Be who you wanna be, a young stunner!”

“I hope those kids wreak havoc downstairs,” Louis said as he placed the glasses on his face, watching Harry make a fool of himself through a red tint. “Make a huge mess for you to clean once you’ve killed me.”

“‘Til I D-I-E, Lord, help me!” Harry held a wooden hanger in his hand as if it were a microphone, passionately singing to Louis.

Louis picked up a discarded shirt and whipped it at him, unamused when Harry caught it. Even now as he teased Louis, Harry’s voice sounded heavenly. The heady wave returned. Louis folded his arms, fingers squeezing his elbows to keep from reaching to cradle Harry’s face, needing to feel intense sparks bounce through his fingers.

“Why don’t you kill me now? No one's watching, you could stuff my body in the bathtub and deal with it in the morning,” Louis offered, pointing to the ensuite.

Harry stopped his serenading, one hand on his hip while the other pulled his bottom lip. Louis swallowed, waiting.

Harry’s face scrunched and he shook his head. “My ensuite doesn’t lock and a few of my mates have a habit of coming up here since it's the only bathroom with a window.”

As if kismet, the door burst open, revealing a very drunk Niall stumbling in. He froze, taking in the strange scene before him, then shrugged, nearly tripping over himself as he moved to the ensuite. The Irish man paused with a hand on the knob and eyes landed on Louis. He gestured to Louis’ neck and suddenly Louis remembered the bruises.

“I knew you two would have a good time, Lou.” The blond winked and slammed the door shut just in time for the awful sound of heaving to fill the room.

***

XI. fatigue

Shadows obscured Louis' face from the glistening light. The flickering of something gruesome played on the widescreen. The room was small, intimate. The pixelated image was close, projecting onto an empty wall as the lead actress let out a blood curdling scream. A breeze filled the room from the window edged open to cover the stench of weed and expensive cigars coming from the group behind him. The leader of the pack, a lanky fellow with a mess of hair, spewed useless trivia about the making of the film.

Louis had tucked himself on the floor, sitting on a knotted rug when a girl with pink hair set a glass bong in his lap, tilting the cylindrical end in his direction. He eyed it for a moment, then felt a cold wave of something akin to pain ripping through his stomach. He grabbed the translucent green vase in his hand and took an elegant hit of the cannabis, letting the dark and quaint atmosphere settle a sense of ease within him.

Louis had detached himself from Harry moments ago, wandering around the house until he had found a red door that led him down a flight of stairs. Most people had haunting secrets hidden away in their basement, Harry—defying the norm—had a soundproof theatre room with a small sign by the entrance that openly invited his guests to enjoy the room as they pleased.

A light sheen of sweat had started along Louis’ hairline. He ignored it, pulling himself closer to the window despite knowing it wouldn’t help.

Louis had needed a break from all that was Harry. After they left the master suite, Harry had been at the constant beck and call of everyone’s attention, letting himself be approached by whoever, making laps around the house ensuring he spoke to every living soul that entered. It would have been endearing and proper if it wasn't for the slight pitch in Harry’s gaze as he held a stranger's eyes for a disturbingly long period. Or the way people seemed to move _for him_ , as if there was a tiny string holding them up as they pushed themselves onto him.

Louis had waddled behind, arms crossed and lips slanted. Harry, for the most part, had sensed his sour mood and acted as if Louis wasn’t there. Something he was all too grateful for and yet, resented. Louis, having witnessed enough, had finally managed to escape when a pretty girl dragged Harry away to dance.

Louis watched another character get stabbed, the sound of piercing violins filling the room with the character’s screams. He drew his knees up and ignored another curl of pressure in his stomach.

Other than pain, there was another sensation that grew within him. Louis’ eyes roamed his surroundings, appreciating the small insignificant details, the smell of faint lemon polish from the floor, the quiet laughs that emerged from the couple cuddling in the corner, the lint that floated in space between the light and the wall, mimicking the feathery movement of snow. Louis looked at the world through a melancholic lens, cherishing all before he bid it goodbye.

Tonight would be his last night alive and Louis somehow relished the idea. He had lived as a nomad, scurrying through towns and cities to satisfy his hunger, estranged from his whole family, harboring a tumor of guilt and grief. He’d had fleeting loves, some unimportant, some he couldn’t maintain. He’d committed horrendous crimes that would never see the light of day, cried as he ate strangers. He had experienced all that this life and body could give him. And he was tired.

Louis would enjoy his final night, and when the sun broke the sky he would let Harry lay him down on the snow with fingers hot along his skin until they tightened around his throat, experiencing a final bliss until life no longer ran through him. He would be rid of the hunger that defined every decision of his life, welcoming new sins that came with the afterlife in hell.

The film was halfway through when shivers started wracking Louis’ body. He suppressed a groan as he stood up, finally caving to his body’s vile need. Discreetly, he walked out the room, clutching himself as he used the last of his coherent senses to find Harry.

***

XII. crucifixion

Louis swigged a gentle sip of wine, letting the taste of aged grape slosh in his mouth before he swallowed the potent thing. He harshly set the half-emptied bottle on the marble next to him, the sound scraping through the spacious, barren kitchen. He leaned back with hands flat on the counter, nearly knocking the knife block at his side. He swung his legs on the edge cherubically as he watched Harry press a bloke against the fridge.

Their faces melted into each other, the lad’s body pressed against the stainless steel, neither of them hardly discouraged by Louis' presence. The pair’s lips heatedly slid together. Harry's hands roamed along the man's body, fingers settling at his hips, swiping the slab of skin beneath the stranger's knitted sweater. Harry’s touch seemed gentle and feathery, grazing the skin as goosebumps appeared along the boy’s flesh, a contrast to when they were pushed along Louis' throat. The man moaned under Harry’s touch, eyes shut tightly, the noises foul to Louis’ ear.

Louis had found Harry in a compromising position that escalated shortly as he settled on the counter. He didn’t think Harry was aware of his presence with his back turned, occupied by trapping the human boy in his arms. Most of the stragglers had left noticing the couple’s heated entanglement. Despite wanting to follow their lead, Louis was forced to witness the show, his cursed body instantly relieved from its ailment the moment he was in the same vicinity.

There was another feverish moan. Louis gritted his teeth.

Louis began humming, feet creating a rhythm with each kick to the cupboards below him. There was hardly a response at first, however, after a particularly hard thump, the human boy opened his eyes, no doubt startled to see blue, icy ones glaring back.

“Oh,” the boy said, detaching himself from Harry. He cleared his throat discreetly mentioning to Louis behind them. “There’s someone…”

“Don’t mind him,” Harry didn’t even turn, shrugging, “he likes to watch”

Louis huffed before a devilish smile broke through his lips.

“Just so you know, love,” he looked directly at the boy, “he gave me syphilis.”

Harry whipped around, eyes bulging and mouth gaping.

The boy raised an eyebrow, looking between the pair.

“Look,” he said, pushing himself away from Harry and adjusting himself, “clearly you got shit to sort out, mate.”

Louis waved as the bloke left the kitchen, leaving him alone with Harry.

There was a pause where both Harry and Louis stared at the other, exchanging dark acidic expressions.

Harry sighed and turned to open the fridge. “Couldn't stay away, then.” He pulled a bottle of pink cooler. “Didn’t think you’d last long, but fifteen minutes is a bit sad.”

“Oh, sorry mate.” Louis placed a hand on his chest. “You really need that shag, do you? Goin’ through a dry spell are we?”

There was another pause. Harry moved next to Louis and used the edge of the counter to nick off the cap of his cooler.

“Don’t know what you were expectin’,” Louis sighed exaggeratedly. “I can’t move more than ten feet away from you without getting sick. What would you have me do? Sit in the room while you fuck a stranger?”

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Louis beat him to it. “Unless voyeurism is your thing.” Louis’ eyes lit up in glee. “Please tell me that’s why they clipped your wings! Angel boy’s into watching orgies, that’s it! Innit?”

Harry shut his eyes as he slammed the cooler on the counter. “I’m trying to be _nice_ here, Louis. I’m so—”

“Save the apology,” Louis raised a hand, “butchers don’t apologize to the cattle they’re about to slaughter.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That doesn't mean we have to be at each other’s throats.”

Louis’ fingers held the edge of the counter, his legs crossed. “No. You would rather I twiddle my thumbs until you kill me.”

“That’s not—”

“Or better yet, get on my knees and worship your holiness. Thank you for your generosity and kindness that has allowed me to live through the night.” Louis sneered. “I’m not here to feed into your ego while you play God.”

“Are you done? Got it all out of your system?” Harry rubbed his eye. “I don’t need you to be grateful. Me not killing you is a matter of convenience not kindness. You’re still in fact, the enemy. My duty is to annihilate you. I won't be guilted into thinking _I’m_ in the wrong.”

Louis tilted his head to the side as he considered Harry’s words. A yawn escaped Harry, his eyes squeezed tight and a hand over his mouth.

Hardened with a jarring thought, Louis glanced to the wooden block. His fingers were quick as reached over and pulled a knife from its home, tucking the blade right on the base of Harry’s neck, letting it kiss flesh. Complying to wicked thoughts was a flaw in his nature.

Harry’s mouth snapped shut, posture stiff, eyes frozen to Louis’. A dense weight cinched between them.

Louis’ voice was the piercing shrill of sharpening knives, “Do it now. It’s your fucking _duty_ to kill me, so do it now.”

Harry didn’t move, eyes hooded. The only evidence of emotion was the hard clench of his jaw.

“It’s either you or me.” Louis slid the metal on Harry’s olive skin, watching as it pierced through, dots of blood blooming from the wound. His mouth watered at the thought of Angel blood smeared on his lips.

There was a shift within Harry. In a blink, the knife was ripped away from Louis’ hand. Another blink, Harry held the blade high before he plunged through his other hand, impaling Louis’ to the counter. The metal blade stood tall and thick as blood oozed from the wound.

Louis pressed his lips together, teeth clenched.

Harry crowded Louis’ space and forced himself between his thighs. The air went still with the charge of something carnal. Heated hands scalded Louis' face as Harry held his jaw, his grip merciless.

Louis felt his hand going numb, unable to examine its condition as Harry held his gaze. His lungs ceased to function. The lack of breathing suspended time, stretching the moment.

Harry’s breath was tart against Louis' lips, as if forcing life into the demon. Vile eyes, challenging and pensive, studied Louis’ face. There was a flash of something familiar, something the demon knew all too well— _hunger_.

Louis swallowed, watching Harry’s lips move as he spoke.

“Please do not underestimate the patience I have for a creature like you.”

Harry removed himself from Louis and walked out of the kitchen. Louis stood still, his free hand reaching for the stiff black handle. He counted to three before he closed his eyes and lifted the blade from his hand. Blood pooled on the counter, dripping to the floor and splattering against the wooden cupboard when it hit the ground.

Louis rushed to the sink, turning the tap and submerging the wound, letting the cold water wash his blood down the drain. Already he could feel his nerves and veins merging together to heal. Louis turned the tap, cold water became hot, his hand going pink, and he was captivated with the searing sensation. He pulled his hand from the water and let it lay limp on the counter as he watched the wound gush with blood.

The gears in his head shifted as a plan formed.

***

XIII. fathom limb

Louis emerged from the bathroom with bandages wrapped around his hand.

He’d slipped into the nearest bathroom and thanked Satan when he found a first aid kit behind the mirror. The wound wasn’t as bad as it seemed, nevertheless, still a grisly sight.

As he’d wrapped gauze around his hand, Louis thought of the lecherous look in Harry’s eyes. He recalled particular moments of the night, the crowds, private touches, heavy gaze with the slew of people. Harry harbored a different hunger than Louis. It was a need for bodies tangled against bodies, skin sliding against skin

He was a creature made from lust.

Louis was no stranger to pleasure and how it functioned in humans. It tainted and overrode the mind, lying dormant until a triggered thought or provocative touch created a heated monster pleading for release.

The art of seduction, to harness and manipulate desire, were tools he’d mastered

after he turned. To obtain what he needed, to lure the deer away from the herd, Louis resorted to nearly anything, but none had worked as well as enticement. At the end of the day, Harry was similar to all human men, sexually driven and visually stimulated. Harry was a man Louis could capture.

On the wall a clock flashed a blasphemous hour, the morning sun nearly ready to breach the sky in less than two hours. With a wince, Louis stretched his arm above his head. Already his joints ached.

The main living space was less packed than before, strangers returning to their homes to sleep, stragglers already dozing off in small crevices, bodies contorting in uncomfortable positions. Louis slid against a wall, fatigue hitting all at once. A side effect from being separated from Harry.

Louis sighed. He had a few more minutes before the pain would hit a peak. He had started to massage his shoulder when he caught a flash of a familiar figure entering from the backyard through the sliding doors.

“Lou?” Zayn said, bringing the cold and a fresh group of people inside with him. “You still here, mate? Though you went back to the flat.”

Louis smiled lightly. “Felt better ‘n thought I’d stay. Gave your car keys to Niall, by the way.”

Zayn pulled the keys from his pocket, jingling them in front of Louis before he slumped next to Louis. “What’s goin’ on with your hand?”

Louis shrugged, the lies not forming in his head.

Zayn seemed to have accepted the non-answer, eyeing the bandaged hand for only a few seconds. “You look better, was getting a bit worried there.”

Louis went to poke Zayn’s side but Zayn batted it away. “Told you I was fine, just needed to empty my stomach out.”

“We’re taking off in a bit, Niall nearly fell asleep in the yard,” Zayn informed, pointing behind him. “We should probably let him stay at ours, he likes your eggs the best when he’s hungover.” Zayn leaned over and tapped Louis' cheek twice.

Louis looked down to his fingers, blood and dirt wedged between his nails, dread blanketing him like a plastic bag over his face. “Actually, I’m going to stay here for the night.”

Zayn pulled away his hands, eyes going still. “Niall said something about you shagging up with that bloke everyone keeps ravin’ about.”

Louis grimaced. “Harry, yeah he’s...yeah.”

Louis watched Zayn, trying to catch a sliver of any emotion he might reveal. He was not surprised to find nothing. Louis and Zayn both slept with other people, however, at the end of the day they went back home together and curled up against the other, fucked away the booze, drugs, and any lingering scent of whoever they were with previously. An unspoken rule was broken. And Louis, despite himself, wished Zayn’s facade would crack just a little.

Zayn nodded after a beat. “Seems like a cool lad.”

Louis smirked at the irony,“Yeah, you could say that.”

“‘M heading out then.” Zayn stood, stuffing a cig between his lips. “See you in a bit.”

“Yeah,” Louis said, looking up to his best friend with a twinge of sadness as he realized this may be the last time he’ll ever see him. He dispersed the thought. Louis wasn’t one to doubt his abilities.

“Oh, and Lou...”

“Hm?”

Zayn lit his cigarette, then pulled it out of his mouth. “Charge your fucking phone, yeah?”

Louis’ laugh was soundless, lacking its usual jollity. Zayn didn’t call him out on it.

***

Louis went over his plan, thinking of each step in detail. He was determined. Once it was over, he would be home to Zayn with Angel meat in his stomach. He found himself standing in front of a familiar red door for the second time that night. His finger shook as he twisted the knob, the ripping in his stomach having started a few minutes ago.

The theatre room was empty. The window opened, framed with heavy curtains, tied with gold rope to match the painted moldings. Sunlight, brightening the room and making it appear larger than he remembered. Louis was able to see the room for what it was, realizing the details and fixtures were specifically chosen to resemble an actual theatre except for the inappropriate furniture. Brightly colored corduroy chairs, velvet pillows and wool blankets all dispersed around the knotted Persian rug, directed in a half-circle facing a pull-down screen.

Harry moved around tidying the room, eyebrows dipping in his face as he emptied the ashtrays into a bin and shook out blankets. The room was nearly soundless save for the projector that displayed a warning of powering off.

Louis plopped onto a chair, deliberately undoing Harry’s efforts.

“So curly, are we squared? Or shall I snap off the leg of this chair so you can have a go at the other hand?” Louis asked.

Harry’s face was flat, clearly annoyed with Louis’ presence. “How’s your hand?”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Louis lifted the injured hand, blood peeking through the gauze. “Healing.”

Harry remained quiet, picking a few glass bottles and disposing of them in a bin.

“I must say I thought for sure one of us would end up dead on that kitchen floor. Preferably you.” Louis meandered on.

Harry crouched down, dusting a few pillows, inspecting them before he arranged them nicely. “Did you clean up the blood?”

Louis scoffed.

“That’s not how this works, Harry.” He turned so his legs dangled off the armchair. “You can’t stab me and expect me to be your maid.”

“Let’s not act like you’re innocent in all this,” Harry said sternly before he turned to Louis and sighed. “Hopefully, it didn't give anyone too much of a scare. Wouldn’t want to ruin anyone's night.”

“Of course not,” Louis said sarcastically. He reached over to pick up a discarded red solo cup and chucked it at Harry’s head.

Harry groaned, crushing the cup in his hands.

Silence filled the space. Harry continued to clean the room, hardly acknowledging his presence and Louis watched him with a frown, deciding on a new tactic.

“So,” Louis said, a teasing smile on his face. He turned in the chair, legs crisscrossed, knees held on the arms. “Does stabbing a demon score you some points with the big man upstairs? Or do you actually have to kill me for it to count?”

Harry huffed. “I don’t kill demons to _score points_. I do it because humans are wonderful, fragile beings.” There was a softness to his tone. “They’re God’s children.”

Crushing another cup in his hand, Harry’s features morphed into something sharp, something determined.

“Despite everything God has done, he has failed to provide them protection from monsters like you.”

“Monsters like me,” Louis mocked, the words heavy on his lips. “Humans need protection from each other. You want to blame all the world’s evil on me? Fine. But I was nearly stabbed to death on my way home from school. Humans can be monsters too. ”

“Right, I...” Harry recoiled, blinking as if an object had hit him in the face. His movement slowed as he placed the trash bin in the corner of the room. “You were once human.” He stated plainly back to Louis.

“We’ve been through this, Harry. Is that all you got from that conversation? I made a valid point there!” Louis leaned over to kick Harry’s pillow display.

“Hm?” Harry’s eyes were casted off to the side, thoughts seemingly elsewhere. He crouched down to the floor to re-adjusted the pillows, completely unbothered, hands moving robotically. “Oh. you may be right...”

Louis crossed his arms and pouted. “That would have gotten me a proper A in debate class, mum would have been proud.” He frowned. The mention of his mother left a throbbing in his heart.

Harry crawled over, settling once he faced Louis. He drew his legs up, elbows resting on his knees as he tilted his head to look at Louis. The proximity felt nice. Already, the ache between Louis’ shoulders loosened and a warm sloshing settled in his stomach. He shut his eyes, trying to re-focus.

Louis opened his eyes to a gaze.

“What?”

“Do you miss them?” Harry asked. “You’re family.”

 _No_ , Louis thought. He didn’t need to be discussing anything about his family with the bloke he was plotting to kill.

Louis nibbled on his thumb, focused on nipping the sensitive skin. Blood coated his tongue. He meant to inspect the wound as he pulled it out of his mouth when his lips moved without permission, spilling like a confession.

“It's like missing a limb.” Louis watched the blood ooze from his thumb as he spoke. “I'll see fresh tulips at the marketplace and think of me mum. Think about how nice it would be to bring home a bouquet, surprise her with ‘em. And suddenly I remember I haven't seen her in years. It’s like waking up in the middle of the night and you’ve forgotten you’ve lost a leg until you’re face down on the floor.”

Harry pulled on his lip with his thumb and forefinger, eyes glossy with emotion.

“Have you ever tried to see her after—”

“No,” Louis clipped, voice chilling with something quivering undertow. A plea, perhaps, begging Harry not to dig further into his open, pustule wound. “I made sure to keep my distance, it wasn’t safe. I wrote a note and left. I...” He swallowed.“I keep making up this ideal scenario in me head that they saw my note and accepted the situation. Eventually moved into a nicer flat, my sisters getting rooms of their own, mum remarrying some nice bloke from London.” Louis smiled, seeing the image so vividly in his head, seeing his sister’s smiling face.

“But,” Louis let out a trembling sigh, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I _know_ they probably stayed in that shitty flat, kept my room the same, not a hair out of place. Me mum probably calls me old phone every year on my birthday, despite it being disconnected, just to leave a heartfelt message. Lottie probably worries like mad and stayed behind instead of going to university in New York like she wanted. I’m sure she resents me for leaving everything up to her, it’s probably easier to picture me as dead rather than alive because then…”

Louis pressed his lips together as if he could keep the words from tumbling out. They escaped. “I wouldn’t be the shitty older brother who walked out on his family.”

He clasped his hands together tightly, restraining himself from shoving his thumb in his mouth.

Harry simply watched, a sad smile resting on his lips.

“I think if your family knew you were alive, they would want to know that you’re okay. I had—” He blinked. “I have a sister.”

“You have a sister.” Louis stated. The idea seemed bizarre.

Harry’s eyes sparkled with tears as he nodded.

“She got to stay up there, I didn’t. She’s the only family I have left and if I knew she was on Earth...” Harry shook his head, eyes closed. “I would give anything to see her once.”

Louis nodded with a frown.

“If you die, wouldn’t you see her again?” He asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“No.” Harry’s voice was hardly a whisper. “I’ve sinned beyond forgiveness. If I die it’s straight to hell.”

There was so much of Harry that Louis didn’t know. A ridiculous anger settled; he wanted to know more about Harry’s life. It was irrational and absurd, the amount of questions wreaking havoc in his mind about Harry.

Louis needed to be rid of this curse.

He took a glance at the window. The sky was forming a light blue gradually mixing orange and yellow. This was his last chance to throw a hail mary.

“At least you’ll have one familiar face on your side,” Louis lied absently, growing worried as time escaped him.

“I’ve killed other demons.”

Louis snickered. “All of which were happily willing to die, I’m sure.”

Harry made a face that resembled a confused child. “You’re happy with dying?”

Louis shrugged. “I’m ready to die. Wouldn’t necessarily say I'm happy with the idea of it happening today.”

Harry nodded and stretched his neck to the side.

There was a shift in Louis’ mouth as his teeth sharpened. He pictured Harry’s head on his lap, fleshed ripped at the throat, red on the expensive carpet, no one to hear his screams.

Somehow, the image made Louis’ stomach turn, a wet and slimy feeling spreading at his ribs. But it’s the reminder he needed to move forward.

Louis stood up and reached his hand out. Harry eyed him, an eyebrow shooting up before grabbing it and letting Louis pull him up to his feet. Louis continued to hold Harry’s hand, running a thumb over his warm knuckle, absorbing the sizzling sensation.

“There’s one thing I would like to experience before I die.”

Eyes wide, something flickered in Harry as Louis caressed his hand.

“What’s that?”

Dropping Harry’s hand, Louis moved closer, invading his space, eyes deliberately shifting to his lips.

Harry’s eyes grew dark.

***

XIV. stifling breaths & warm delights

“I know what you’re doing, Louis,” Harry said, each word thrumming like low notes of music, his name especially melodic.

Louis took another step closer, his hands twitched at his side. “So what’s the matter, then?”

Harry's movements were charged and quick on his skin. He grabbed Louis by the back of the neck and pulled, pain searing through him like the snap of a leather whip.

There was an edge to his tone when Harry spoke. “Doesn’t it matter that you’re trying to kill me?”

Louis watched Harry’s lips move, feeling the susurration of something alive start to itch his skin.

“No, it doesn’t.” Louis licked his lips. “It’s no longer a secret. You’ll stop me when the time comes.”

“I’m not a fool.” Harry's voice was a whisper, damp against Louis' lips.

Green eyes danced between his own pale blue ones and Louis recognized the heated stare, confirming what he already knew.

 _I don’t know about that,_ Louis thought.

Louis cautiously put his hands around Harry’s hips, feeling warmth beneath the satin.

The room was ever so quiet, completely detached from the noise that filled the house.

Harry went to move first, but Louis grew impatient and met him halfway, crashing their lips together like a car colliding with a tree. A gasp escaped Louis as Harry’s mouth ravenously consumed his.

Worry started to settle in his gut as Louis tried to summon his hunger. Instead, he was met with overwhelming desire. It grew inside him and teetered off the brim. Louis thought he’d go mad from it.

Fiery hands caressed Louis’ face as his lips were parted, the sour taste of strawberries filling his mouth, spit soaking his tongue tenderly. Louis clutched onto Harry with a fervid heaviness tipping the world in a tangled mess of vivid color and all-consuming pleasure. With a smooth glide their tongues moved against each other, tying them together in a dance of wet heat.

Harry bit his lip and Louis jerked, body thrown in a marvelous stream of delight. A soundless moan cracked through Louis’ lips. Harry’s mouth returned to swallow his gasps.

Louis blinked, unable to grasp at any form of clarity.

Wet lips moved to suckle Louis’ neck, a glistening trail of spit left in its wake as Harry kissed over the darkened bruises he left. Pain bloomed beautifully through Louis from the slight graze of teeth upon each mark.

Louis realized too late that his lungs were lacking air, his vision prickly and blurred, unable to keep up with Harry’s movements. He rolled his head onto Harry’s shoulder, reality glitching before him, overwhelmed by an unfamiliar and exhilarating sensation.

Harry’s feverish hands pulled his Harvard hoodie off Louis, furiously bringing it over his head. Louis pulled away, breathing heavily through his nose.

“Shit. I—” Louis shut his eyes trying to get the room to stop spinning. “I just need a minute.”

“I told you Angel blood is very potent.” Harry reminded him. “Trying to kill me in your state might prove to be difficult.”

With a bit of space, the fogginess from Louis’ head slowly dissipated.

He sucked his tongue, turning to look at the window. He tried to shift once more, digging deep to find the vicious hunger he had grown to know. There was nothing, instead, the sensitivity of his groin distracted him as it pulsed with pleasure with each movement. And there was a heat in his fingers causing them to twitch, wanting to pull Harry close.

This was it. Unable to shift and blinded by this intoxicating lust, he gave in to the fact that in a few hours he would die.

Louis regrettably adjusted the hard-on in his pants. He stopped himself from moaning when his eyes met Harry’s sinful gaze. _Fuck it_.

“Alright.” Louis returned to Harry’s space. “Lay it on me, Curly.”

Harry fixed him with a look. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s fuck,” Louis said shamelessly. “Better make it good if this is going to be my last shag.”

Harry’s fingers were on Louis’ chin, their eyes locked. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Louis smirked. “Bring it on.”

Wanting to take control, Louis leaned closer, clutching onto the few seconds of clarity. However, Harry leaned back, maneuvering himself until he stood behind Louis.

“Let me run the show for a bit, yeah?”

Before Louis could protest, Harry’s lips latched on his shoulders, forming bruises, fingers petting Louis' stomach, teasing the waistband of his pants. Despite agreeing to this, Louis still doubted whether he could trust Harry, but in the end it hardly mattered.

Harry’s hand breached Louis’ pants to palm his cock. And once again Louis felt the edge of the world soften, wretched dizziness escalating with each blink of his eyes.

Louis moaned.

“You sound so pretty for a demon.” Harry’s steady hand wrapped around his cock, simply holding it in Louis' pants. Seconds felt like minutes, stretching on like a metal spring. Louis could scream.

A breath tickled his ear. “I’m in the mood for a good discipline.”

There was movement. Harry’s big hand pacified him with deliriously slow tugs. Louis felt his knees buckle, nearly crashing down onto the rug below. Harry allowed Louis to slip from his grip, only to lead him down onto the expensive perisian rug.

Harry manhandled Louis onto his hands and knees, pulling his pants down and letting them pile at his ankles. Louis could hardly comprehend the world in front of him, focused on Harry’s touches.

Harry’s body blanketed Louis’ back, fingers gripping his hair until Louis’ cheek was pressed against the rug.

Louis shut his eyes, sparks dancing in his vision as he felt suffocated in the addictive heat. Precum bubbled at the slit on his exposed cock.

The heat pulled back, Louis quivered at the lost warmth, ass high and exposed for Harry to do as he pleased.

“ _Christ_ , look at you.” Harry whispered, his voice harsh, sending violent shivers down Louis’ spine.

A smack echoed through the room as Harry's palm connected with the flesh of Louis’ ass. Louis blubbered, nonsensical gibberish escaping his lips. Harry did it again, harder than the last time, and it forced Louis’ body to ricochet from the sheer power, sharp whips of pain heightening with each blow.

Louis' head buzzed, melting into white as Harry continued to spank him tortuously, the sound intimately vulgar as it mixed with his own mewling. It didn’t make sense that the man behind him had come from heaven when he abused Louis' ass with such ease, the act so sinful. This was quite a contrast to what he was expecting.

When Harry finally ceased Louis was on the verge of tears, his nails dug into knotted fabric below him.

Hands gripped his marked ass, massaging the cheeks. Louis jolted and his teeth dug in his lips, breath seizing after a particularly hard squeeze.

“Fuck, you’re so...” Harry said roughly, voice cracking at the end.

Louis’ head was a mixture of mush and puddles, losing grip of the anchor with each passing second. His breath was labored, cheeks burning, a feverish mess.

“Hey,” Harry said gently, a suffocating blanket of heat laid on Louis’ back once again. A hand combed through Louis' hair. “Am I hurting you?”

Louis’ eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide, brought back from a ledge. It took him a minute for the colors of the rug not to smudge together.

“I thought that was the point.” Louis babbled. His nerves were still jumpy and charged. He let a deep breath in effort to settle the fire in his belly.

“It’s not suppo—” There was a pause. “I don’t want to hurt you, Louis. You don’t deserve to hurt.” Harry’s voice was delicate like a petal landing on his back.

And suddenly, there was a terrible feeling of dread prickling all over Louis' skin. It clogged his throat and stung his eyes. The shame kept him sealed away, reared its ugly head.

“ _I_ hurt people,” Louis cried, salty tears cascaded the bridge of his nose. “My whole existence relies on me hurting people. It's horrendous Harry.”

Warm fingers wiped his tears before they rubbed his back.

“You were dealt an evil hand, Louis. Despite everything, you’re still you, you still care,” Harry’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I don’t believe you're as horrendous as you want me to think.”

Louis’ sniffing was the only sound in the room as Harry continued to rub his back. The touch was soothing and kind, yet concerningly addicting. He feared he would miss it when it was gone.

“I don’t mind it.” Louis’ hoarse voice broke the silence. He turned his head, pressing his forehead on the rug, unable to face Harry in such a state.

“You don’t mind what?”

“Pain,” Louis said easily. “It’s kind of grounding.”

Louis was used to fast heat and scraping teeth, it was all he knew. Sex had always been like this since he turned. The pain anchored his hunger and before he knew it, he found himself expecting, almost _needing_ it.

A hot hand reached over to pinch his nipple. Long and hard. Louis whined, body quivering at the sudden shift in sensation. Cock still stiff and full between his legs.

“Noted.” Harry said.

“Speaking of,” Louis lifted his head to face Harry who laid naked at his side. “Can we pretend that I didn't just have an emotional breakdown and get this show on the road?”

Harry broke into a kind laugh, the sound calming.

“Yeah, ok, just—” Harry cleared his throat. “Gotta tell me when it’s too much.” He ordered as he returned to his position behind Louis.

Despite Louis’ state, he managed to roll his eyes. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hands were back on Louis’ ass, cupping the soft curve and spreading his swollen cheeks apart. Louis made a point to inhale, trying to focus on the simple task of breathing. Except, with each inhale he could smell Harry on him, oak and lilac drenching his own pores.

There was stimulation at his entrance, a breath muggy and heavy, the sensation barely enough, barely scratching the itch. Then a tongue drenched in spit licked eagerly at Louis' hole.

Louis’ eyes rolled, static crackling behind his eyes, ears muffled as he drowned in the heat.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Louis swore deliriously.

Harry’s wet tongue continued probing at the tight ring, slurping loudly. Harry was relentless, licking deeper and deeper into him, tongue slick and smooth. Harry’s hand gripped Louis’ hip tightly as he came undone.

Louis’ cock was red and stiff, leaking profusely. His body was unbelievably hot as he trembled, sweat beading along his back, eyes glittering with tears. His heart was on the brink of combusting in his chest as it vibrated at an alarming rate.

A finger slipped alongside Harry’s tongue, pressing deep inside Louis, fucking him lightly. Another glob of spit coated Louis’ hole. Harry slipped another finger inside, the burn stretched into delight. The fingers pumped in and out, then wiggled deeper until he found a cluster of nerves and pressed, harder and harder. Louis squirmed and twitched. Fingers dug into his hip forcing him still.

Louis’ lips parted to scream, but a broken moan escaped instead. Everything buzzed rapidly. A building and building tugged his insides, pulling him high off the ground until he saw nothing but white clouds. Then he dropped, millions of sensations devouring him in full force, pleasure so excruciating good taking over.

Electricity coursed through Louis’ veins. He convulsed, bones rattling as if he were having a seizure as his orgasm struck him viciously, almost acridly painful. His cock twitched as it painted his stomach and the rug with loads of white cum.

Harry continued to press on his prostate with more pressure. Then it was gone. There was something hot and sticky painting Louis’ ass, globs dripping on his hole, a finger breaching into his entrance once more with foul squelching and then a final smack. Another quick strip of cum shot from Louis’ spent cock.

A sob lashed out of Louis as tears rolled down his cheeks, feeling as if a thousand bricks had been lifted from his chest, engulfing him in soft colours and warmth. He’d never experienced something so frightening and delightful. His mouth stayed parted, drooling as he whimpered, mind floating, letting Harry do as he pleased with his body.

Heat glueing itself on his back. Louis welcomed it.

“You did so good, so fucking gorgeous,” A voice cooed in his ear, arms wrapped around his body as Louis began to shake. Affectionate kisses were smeared on his neck and shoulder, sweet nothings comforting him as he sobbed.

Descended from a weightless haze, Louis’ mind was empty, the heat around his body keeping him safe. He surrendered to the heaviness in his bones. Blurriness blinded him before he welcomed the sweetness of dreams.

***

XV. A New Life Hangs..

Louis’ eyes sluggishly opened.

The world glossed in a soft hue, sun peeking through the window, slivers of beaming lights laid on his arm. A cool breeze blew. The smell of pines and bark breaching through.

Louis was warm. A rare occurrence. A fleece blanket draped over his naked body. A heated body pressed to his back, working like a radiator.

Louis blinked, the night's events slowly trickling through his memories. He shifted, turning his body to face Harry behind him.

He was met with Harry’s green eyes, face twisted in thought. Neither said anything, the room holding hostage their private suspended moment.

Louis could pretend he had just woken up to a lover, the world made for the two of them, time a mere concept as they went about their day, orbiting around each other. Concerns of what to make for breakfast and picking up groceries were the only problems they ever had to face. Louis could pretend.

However, reality was bleak and cruel. You don’t make a deal with the devil and expect picket fences and a yard with a dog. Louis laid in the arms of a man who didn’t love him and, in a matter of minutes, would end him. That was his reality, there was no time to meddle with disillusions.

Harry’s arms lifted from around him, reaching over to Louis' face, then abruptly stopped, dropping at his side.

“How are you feeling?”

Louis thought about it. “Like I was injected with a shitload of morphine and it still hasn’t completely worn off.”

Harry smiled, teeth pressing on his bottom lip. “How did it feel when we were, uh, intimate?”

Louis found it humorous that Harry, who was not a stranger to indulging in intercourse—or any sexual activity for that matter—could be so awkward when discussing the act. The itch of wanting to know more from Harry resurged.

“I don't think I could describe it,” Louis said after a pause.

Harry shrugged. “Try.”

Louis turned onto his back, Harry’s eyes penetrating the side of his face.

“It reminded me of when I was human.” Louis closed his eyes. “I've never been able to experience pleasure without hunger, not since I turned. It felt like it was all harbored in me somewhere and it came crashing all at once. It was...” Louis’ hands covered his face, feeling his cheeks heating. “It was good?”

“You don’t seem sure.” Harry teased. Louis could picture the smirk on Harry’ face from beneath his hands.

He reached over blindly, pinching Harry’s arm. Harry laughed, grabbing Louis’ finger in his hand. Louis opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of their hands linked together. Again, neither of them said anything, relishing in a comfortable silence.

Louis jolted up, disconnecting them.

“I’m honestly kind of glad my plan to seduce and kill you went to shit,” Louis admitted. “Last shag of my life and it was fucking worth it. By the way—”

Louis stood, separating himself from Harry and his heat. He felt light splashes of pain on his ass and had to breathe through his nose to keep blood from filling his cock. He graded a discarded blanket from a corner chair, tying it around his waist, suddenly feeling exposed.

“When are we doing this, Curly?”

Harry didn’t move, face frozen into frog-like intensity, blinking.

“I put the clothes in the wash, along with your own. I can go grab them?”

Louis shrugged. “Honestly, going out the way I came in seems appropriate.”

Harry didn’t say anything, standing completely bare as he turned his back to Louis. There was a quick glimpse of mutilated skin, two scars mirroring one another by Harry's shoulder blades. Louis leaned forward trying to capture more before Harry’s figure vanished upstairs.

Louis frowned, seating himself on a chair with a blanket in his lap and questions roaming in his head. Harry returned a few moments later fully dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, a very casual attire compared to what Louis had previously seen him in.

The Angel tossed Louis’ own clothes back to him, getting a whiff of lemon fabric softener.

Louis eyed Harry as he dressed himself, noticing his quiet state.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Harry turned to him and pulled on his lip. ”I have this theory...”

Louis pressed his lips together, zipping up his crimson sweater. “Okay.”

“I know you said you didn’t feel hungry while we were—” He scratched his arm “—shagging, but what about earlier?” Harry asked.

“What do you mean?” Louis sat back on the chair, legs crossed.

“After I fed you my blood, did you have any cravings at all last night?”

Louis' squinted, head shifting to the side as he thought. It dawned on him.

Harry smiled, reading Louis’ expression. “I think my blood may be suppressing your hunger.”

“Okay.” Louis eyed Harry cautiously.

“I have a suggestion.”

Louis remained quiet, throat dry. The direction of this conversation lead to foreign waters.

“What if I let you live,” Harry’s voice raised as if he was posing a question, “and kept feeding you my blood.”

Louis’ eyes shifted as if he were expecting cameras to enter the room.

“Then what? I live with you and drink your blood for breakfast everyday?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Even if I don’t get hungry, I still need to eat. I’m not a bloody vampire.”

Harry sat on the floor, nodding as he drew his legs up. “Right, that’s what I figured. But I have this friend in the next town over. He's a good lad, I trust him with anything. He works in a morgue and—”

Louis couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you on about? You’re going to ring up your mate and ask if he has corpses lying around for your demon to eat?”

Harry’s eyebrow furrowed. “I mean not—”

Louis stood up. “This isn't going to work, Harry. You might as well kill me now and get it over with.”

Harry shot up. “I’m trying to help you.”

“By making me your pet?” Louis snapped. “I would be glued to your side twenty-four-seven, Harry. Ain’t exactly an ideal life to live.”

“Better than the one you have now, going around killing innocent lives!”

Louis recoiled, tuning away from Harry’s judgment. “If you want to help me, then let me go.”

“It’s either this or I kill you, Louis.” Harry said, his voice too soft.

“I’ll make this easy for you.”

Louis crossed his arms, slumping back into the chair. A dense block laid on his chest, cracking his ribs. The insufferable urge to return to the warmth of this morning angered him. He was repulsed by the thought of reaching forward and grabbing Harry’s hand, as if it were already a habit.

Harry sighed. “What about your family, Lou? You could finally see them!”

Louis’ breath hitched, prickly tears stinging his eyes.

“ _Fuck off!_ ”

Wet tears rolled down Louis’ cheeks. He furiously wiped them with his sleeves, ears ringing with embarrassment. This was the most he’d cried in the past twelve hours.

Harry crouched in front of him and placed a hand on his lap. Louis gripped his own arm, ceasing his fingers from going numb. Defiantly, he looked to the side. Insides wrung out and exposed.

“I don’t want to kill you, Louis and,” Harry swallowed, eyes trying to breach into his own, “I don’t think you deserve to die.”

Louis blinked. “You don’t know that.”

Harry stood up. “You’re right I don't, but I’m trying to give you another chance here.”

“Here we go again with the God-complex.”

Harry glared. “What?“

“So, what? We shag once and you suddenly grow a conscience, then decide that I get to live and all that sort as if I haven't been slaughtering people for years. Is that about right?” Louis sneered.

Harry sighed, shoulders slumping. “Just sit on it for a bit, yeah?”

He dug into his pocket, pulling out a slender device and placing it in Louis’ lap. Louis kept his eyes to the wall. The weight of Harry’s gaze stung him, skin prickling, demanding his attention.

Only when Harry turned away did Louis acquiesce to his urges. His gaze locked onto Harry’s back, hyper-focused on the steady movement of his shoulder blades as he walked. The faint traces of his scars through his shirt. Louis fantasized of inky, black wings, lifted high. Ready to take flight.

Once alone, Louis took his phone from his lap, watching the screen light up with a familiar logo, the battery fully charged.

He walked over the window and pulled the curtain wide open, lifting the glass panel until he was able to stick his head out. The snowy ground was only a few inches below, ice coating the wooden ledge, jolting him as he leaned. He already longed for the warmth that had taken home in his veins.

Louis looked to the sky, cyan blue with no signs of clouds, sun proud and brightly basking, the air chilled and invigorating. He carefully moved until he sat along the ledge, half his body in the light of day and the other half in the shadow of the theatre. He sat there for what felt like hours, listening to the chirp of birds and bristle of trees.

As his mind hummed in serenity, Louis let his thoughts run rampant. Preposterous theories of a reimagined life. Stripped back of the nature of his being, what would he find beneath the hunger and monstrosity? Children of God held an essence he no longer had. However, Louis selfishly hoped that the residue of whatever fabricated a soul glimmered within him. And for once, maybe faith had been on his side.

The genesis of a light ache in his stomach reminded Louis; a new life always came with a price.

He sighed, pulling out his phone, slipping his thumb into his mouth then thought better and wiped it along his shirt. He navigated through the screen to open the caller app.

He took a breath and let his fingers dialed the only number he knew by heart. Louis held his phone to his ear.

Waited.

“‘Ello?” A gentle voice answered.

Louis sniffed, eyes going glassy.

“Hey, mum.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far (≧◡≦) ♡  
> Any feedback is highly appreciated. Leave a kudo, if you enjoyed  
> Please reblog the post for this fic [here](https://theisolatedlily.tumblr.com/post/642917404706521088/visceral-heat-carnal-highs-by-isolated)  
> Xo. L  
> ❀ TheIsolatedlily on Tumblr ❀


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